


Alone Together

by mydogfoundthechainsaw



Category: The Following
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Episode: s02ep07sacrifice, Explicit Language, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mike has lots of emotions, Ryan can cook
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-20
Updated: 2014-03-20
Packaged: 2018-01-16 07:43:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1337527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydogfoundthechainsaw/pseuds/mydogfoundthechainsaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the days after losing his father, Mike spends his time with Ryan and Max, trying to find serial killer but encountering other things along the way. Because, apparently, Ryan can cook and wants to help Mike as much as possible. And Mike just needs someone nearby. Sometimes, things work out in this world and we get a happy moment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alone Together

**Author's Note:**

> First time for this fandom, but I tried. This was set right after that horrible episode, so the next episode will totally screw this over. But having Mike right next to Ryan's room just opened up so many possibilities, and with Ryan's newfound feelings? So I hope ya'll like it. Not beta'd, so any mistakes are mine.

            Staying a room away from Ryan was a great idea, at least at first. It gave Ryan some sense of control, some wild, idiotic thought he could prevent him from going down that same path of revenge and destruction. And Mike couldn’t think about staying alone. He kept seeing Lily’s smile, his dad’s eyes in that last second. If he stayed in some seedy hotel room, that tape would play over and over in his mind, and he’d analyze it until his mind snapped. Here, he could focus on the tiny creaks and breathing from the other room, the occasional snort, everything Ryan.

            Because Ryan had always been a great way to get his mind off of things. At first, it’d just been some clinical thing, attempting to understand the famous Ryan Hardy when he was exhausted from the cult. At the academy, they’d always joked he was obsessed with him, and maybe they were right. Seeing him in person hadn’t done anything to lessen it, if that was the case. It’d made it worse. Seeing the human foibles of the man just made Mike obsess more, made him fall in love. Which wasn’t a good thing. Ryan’s refusal to communicate after the cult fiasco was over let his feelings subside, but every time Ryan’s name came up, something flared up inside, and he was lost in him again. Which was stupid.

           Ryan shouldn’t have been that appealing. He was a drunk and angry and obsessed with Joe, permanently isolated. Nothing that Mike should want. But there was that stupid looking smile and those eyes and that drive to do good, no matter how much you lost in the process. It was fucking stupid, a puppy love. But it’d never gone anywhere, not with that idiotic “death curse.”

            So when the cult appeared again, a tiny, sick little part of him was happy. He could force Ryan to come back to him. Of course that hadn’t worked out. Ryan had somehow decided that that precious curse of his would apply to Mike. Because he liked Mike, he couldn’t be near him. He had to save the world by himself, because he was Ryan Hardy and he was invincible and he was so great and didn’t need the FBI’s help. Definitely not Mike’s. Infallible logic. Perhaps that’s why it’d taken him so long to catch Joe.

            But now he was curled up on Ryan’s couch, with some crappy pop music blasting in his ears. Max had just left, and Ryan had retreated to his room. She kept trying to get him to talk because she “knew what it felt like.” He liked her, she tried—she was a slightly more feminine copy of Ryan—but he didn’t feel like talking. No amount of talking could erase that video. He wanted to do something.

            Ryan wouldn’t let him do anything, though. Ryan thought he was going down a “dangerous” path because Ryan was one to talk. But his dad had just died. Not even died. His dad had just been fucking murdered by a bitchy sociopath who wanted a “family”, like she even knew what it meant. Mike had had a family. Look where it had gotten him. Shouldn’t Mike be able to go down a “bad” path? Fuck Ryan trying to keep him safe. He didn’t want to be safe; he wasn’t Ryan’s to control. He wanted to kill that stupid fucking bitch.

            And then he sensed a presence watching him. Something muttered, but with a smile. With Ryan, smiles were rare, so Mike had learned to hear them. The crappy pop music was pulled out of his ears, and then Ryan tucked a blanket in around him. He wanted to move, to say something, anything, but he let the moment pass by without acting. Ryan got closer, he could smell that overpowering cologne he favored, and he felt lips brush his forehead. It was quick, light, but Ryan stayed leaning over him, breathing slightly. He brushed Mike’s hair back and muttered something else. Apparently, his acting was worthy of an Oscar because even with Ryan’s newfound feelings, there was no way he’d be this touchy if Mike was awake, or Ryan was sober. The presence left, but he heard the creaking of a chair. Fuck. Ryan had decided to watch him sleep. He wasn’t a fucking child. What was he doing?

            He forced himself to match Ryan’s breathing, hoping he wouldn’t stay too long. But he woke up the next morning across from Ryan. He’d fallen asleep in the chair, with the sun starting to play across his face. Mike snapped his eyes shut, and sure enough, a few minutes later, Ryan yawned and stood up. He stayed curled up until he heard the sizzle of bacon. For a moment, he was back home, his dad making pancakes on a Sunday morning, yelling at him and his brothers to get up, fighting with them over the first batch. It’d been a while, but that was when things went well, before his family had erupted into arguments and opposing sides.

            “Morning. Want some bacon?” So apparently Ryan wasn’t going to say anything about last night. Not that anything had really happened. “You looked cold, so I put a blanket on you.” Maybe he was imagining, wishing about last night. But Ryan was drumming his hands quickly; he only did that when he lied. He drummed a lot, especially when Mike was around.

            So they had a normal breakfast. Nothing fancy, except at every turn he was reminded of Sundays at home. Ryan even tried to discuss the morning paper, like something domestic. But it served its purpose. He didn’t feel like crying, like destroying. He still wanted to find Lily, he just didn’t feel so angry.

            Max walked in as they were arguing over the basketball team. Ryan was drawing it out, he realized, so that he would be distracted. He let it go. She shook her head, smiling that tiny Hardy-smile that meant she knew a secret. The secret was about him, he’d bet, but he didn’t feel like digging deeper. There were other things to worry about. “So….Lily?”

            Ryan flinched slightly, but then his shoulders slumped. He’d broken the spell, but there was no other choice. Playing house with Ryan would be great any other day. Just not now. Max’s eyes burned a hole in the back of his head as they moved into the workroom.

            It was overwhelming, suffocating, pictures everywhere, strings, notes. It reminded him of home. One he’d never go back to, not unless he finished this. And the way things had gone with Joe? The good guys were supposed to win. But how good were they anymore? Lily’s picture seemed to mock his thoughts. She looked so…fake, he realized now, so made up. He couldn’t believe he’d ever bought her story. If he’d just looked a little deeper, everything could be different. There were so many stupid little things he could’ve done. And started going down that path again, playing that video in his head, their last conversation, that time where he lost himself in the pain. And it was dragging him down, deeper and deeper. Somehow he always ended up here. Debra’d been the same way. How long had it taken him to even stop that? And Debra….

            “So. You wanna get started on Lily’s old contacts? Find out all the ones before Joe?” Good old Max. If she could just stop looking at him with sad eyes. But it worked. Soon they were digging into Lily’s life, sitting in silence. Her life was perfect, distracting in its beauty, on the first and second looks. But on the third look, he started seeing patterns, questions. She was a great criminal, yes, but there was a reason he was in this position so young. And so he deconstructed her life and started putting it together. It was just one episode, not guaranteed to tell him anything, but he just needed a jumping-off point.

            And then he smelled something delicious. Everything had flown past him for hours now; he’d get like that with problems. But it was food, and his stomach started growling and Ryan was in front of him with a plate and a smile that was hope and nervousness. And the smell wasn’t a lie—it tasted good. The smile turned proud and he could imagine Max laughing behind him but he smiled back and since when did Ryan cook? But here they were, in the sketchy apartment full of really fucking creepy sociopaths staring at you and histories of all of them and god damn if Ryan’s cooking was good enough to make him forget all of it.

            It went by too quickly, but it took too long. Ryan eventually stopped staring at him and ate his own food, but he remained a shadow on Mike’s shoulder during the experience. They returned to their work without saying anything, and soon he was lost again. His gains hadn’t gotten him anywhere. Apparently Lily had skill; she wasn’t just some crazy bitch who’d gotten lucky once. No one had that much luck. But he stayed with it, eyes glazing over and brain rehashing the same events and goddamn if it wasn't just a little harder than it should've been.

            Food pulled him out again. It smelt Chinese and Ryan was there again but Max wasn’t. So the two of them went to the dinner table and what god let Ryan be able to cook this well? He scarfed it down, unable to stop himself, letting Ryan just watch him. “Thanks,” he choked out. He hadn’t talked most of the day. It felt awkward and imprecise, but he seemed satisfied.

            Of course, Ryan’s determination to prevent him from going dark side meant he locked Mike away from the evidence for the rest of the night. Instead they sat next on the too-small couch watching some stupid comedy that apparently Ryan really adored. There were hidden depths, things that apparently Joe had yet to ruin. That hopefully Joe would never ruin. Because this stupid Ryan who had feelings and could cook and laughed loudly along with the soundtrack had taken his mind off everything. He’d made himself the focal point, so Mike couldn’t focus on anything else, and it really wasn’t a bad thing.

            Eventually, he claimed to need sleep, and Ryan retreated to his room. Sleep refused claim him when he curled up on the couch. It taunted him with his father and Lily and Debra kept trying to give advice. And then he felt a presence again. Ryan. Apparently Mike just needed to be kissed goodnight, tucked in, and watched over. It wasn’t like he was an adult or Ryan’s partner or anything. But he fell asleep anyway, and he awoke to Ryan’s cooking. The chair looked slept-in, and Ryan looked bedraggled. He wondered if it was worth it. It’d be so awkward to bring it up now. Not like it wasn’t fucking awkward as hell now, with him wondering the purposes behind it all. But it helped him sleep.

            And their day went the same as the day before. When they weren’t working, Ryan seemed determined to drag Mike’s focus away from the problem and onto him. It worked. It wasn’t like Mike fought it that hard—he didn’t really want to become like him. He didn’t want his sole purpose in life to be to find Lily; he just wanted one of his achievements to be to find Lily. And that achievement needed to occur sooner rather than later. But Ryan kept him from going to deep into it all. Why hadn’t he been there after Debra? He’d found his way, but Ryan’s cooking would’ve helped. Ryan would’ve helped.

            He got somewhere with Lily’s file, finding several men who just might’ve been those creepy crazy serial killers that had terrorized towns for years. And if he felt just a smidge better, maybe that’d make up for his inability to find the woman herself. But they’d caught Joe, and he was miles ahead of her. They’d catch her. They had to catch her.

            The night went the same as before, and Mike still couldn’t decide how he felt about Ryan, but he slept before he could think too deeply about it. Because he didn't want to think to deeply about it. Thinking was bad. Thinking led to getting lost in feelings and then getting lost in those eyes and Mike had always had too many feelings for it to be good. They were falling into a pattern, he realized, right before he lost himself to dreams. And he just might’ve liked that pattern.

            That pattern continued to the next day. There hadn’t been any new developments on the Lily or Joe cases for the past few days, which he was glad for—they had enough information as it was. And it wasn’t getting them anywhere. He’d gotten stuck on her perfect life. So he switched to Joe, trying to find someone he’d go to now, letting Ryan deal with her. Max was looking into followers, occasionally making clicking, disapproving noises. She was getting somewhere. Lots of people needed the comfort, and Joe was good at manipulating them.

            And as he kept reading over files, he sank deeper into anger and confusion and hatred. These people sacrificed their beings to an unbenevolent, narcissist who turned them into extensions of himself. And they were all so grateful to him. Joe took people and made them into killers; Lily took killers and tried to make them into people. He wasn’t sure what was worse. But both of them had taken ones he loved, and he needed to find them.

            But finding them wasn’t on the table, apparently. Lily was smart, and Joe had the help of the mole. The mole that would be impossible to find in the bureaucracy that called itself the FBI. Because there were fifty million people who would be able to get the information, and their families and friends, if they were Joe’s, would go to any lengths to get it out of them. And he couldn’t see how anyone who had the badge could betray people enough to join with a serial killer. He couldn’t imagine falling for anyone so hard to do something like that. Even Ryan couldn’t convince him.

            Although Ryan never would. Because Ryan was currently trying to distract him from murder and death and crime and for some reason thought he needed protection. Not that it wasn’t working. Not that the treatment had hurt his work. He’d never worked well full of anger; he was, as everyone had remarked not-so-well behind his back, a puppy. His job was full of pain, but working under pain screwed him over. And this pain, now, was worse than he’d ever experienced, and Ryan was only scraping the surface.

            That night went the same as before. The stupid comedy was growing on him. It was Ryan’s fucking reaction. Nothing like anyone he’d ever been around. And it was amazing. But it still wasn’t helping him sleep. When he was alone, without a file or Ryan to distract him, those same thoughts consumed him. He kept trying to fight against them, but that anger was a difficult beast to tame. And he had no clue why he’d kept watching that video. It played on repeat in his mind, with nightmares of the before and after scenes.

            And Ryan wasn’t coming. Having someone, something, near him, had always helped him. After Debra, his dog. Now, Ryan. Focusing on other things made him lose himself. He lay there, trying to imagine anything but the case, but it was the pink elephant in the room. It was two in the morning, and Ryan still hadn’t come.

            When he got up, he had no plan. Maybe food would calm him. There were leftovers, somewhere, possibly. Food was distracting. But the food would only last so long. And then he’d be left with that stupid image and why did he think this job would be a good one because he was losing himself to everything and the only redeeming thing was the people and they kept dying and how long would it be till everyone was dead?

            And stupid fucking Ryan was in the next room, and he could never get that man out of his head even when he didn’t even try to be friendly. But now he was being friendly and Mike was in his home and he was in the next room and everything was just conspiring against him. Because Mike wasn’t a creeper and he wasn’t into guys and Ryan certainly thought of him as a child more than a romantic interest because why else was he tucking him in, but he needed to be near him.

            He pushed open the door. It was stupid. Mike wasn’t stupid. But the door was already open, and Ryan was rolling over. He looked slightly confused, hair disheveled, eyes squinting. “Mike…” the words came out slurred. “What’re you doin’?”

            “Couldn’t sleep.” And suddenly he felt stupid. Because what was he expecting. Ryan’d been nice because he felt sorry. But this was creepy. Overstepping bounds. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m doing. I just…”

            But he just pulled the covers back. Mike stared at him for a while. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Nothing like this ever happened. Everything he wanted, he didn’t get. And why was he here in the first place? His father had just died. Debra still haunted him. He shouldn’t be here. So he just kept staring. Ryan mumbled “Go ‘t sleep,” and then rolled over.

            So he slipped him. It was warm and comfortable and he could hear Ryan’s breathing slipping back into sleep. He laid stiff as a board until that breathing relaxed his muscles, one by one. He didn't remember falling to sleep, but he knew it would happen.

            Ryan’s eyes were beautiful. They were also big. Because they were staring at him, too goddamn close, and why couldn’t he move? And Ryan had this stupid, lazy smile that was happy and secretive and curse his sleep-addled brain for putting them in this position. He wanted to get up and move and run away and pretend that this had never happened but it had and neither one of them was moving. And then Ryan opened his stupid goddamn mouth and said “’Morning beautiful,” like this was a normal occasion.

            Maybe he was drunk. Maybe he thought Mike was some random chick he had banged the night before and that this was totally okay. Because then Mike could run away and find some girl with a strong jawline and blue eyes and scruff that would be totally convincing. That was a great plan. Except he couldn’t lie to him like that. That would just be cruel.

            So he stared at Ryan. It was simple and stupid and he wasn’t sure what the correct plan of action was. Neither of them seemed to know what to do. This wasn’t supposed to happen. And then he heard the door open and Max stepped in but then she wasn’t there anymore but he was still staring at Ryan. He couldn’t take it anymore and opened his mouth. “So…what’s the plan?”

            “Your move. It’s always your move.” So he breathed in and out and tried to convince himself that this was a fucking stupid move because really, he was recovering from all this pain and he really shouldn’t be making these stupid decisions and when the fuck did Ryan become so nice. And Ryan just kept staring at him like he was the center of his fucking universe and he shouldn’t be because really he was just some stupid kid who hadn’t done enough to warrant a look like that. But he obviously had because he’d been treated like that all week and he hadn’t even realized what it meant. Because Ryan’s “death curse” meant that he’d never gotten close and now he was acting like him and Max were so fucking important to his wellbeing and it was disarming but just a little bit good.

            Because there were too many feelings right now and since when could people feel this many emotions at once and he was notorious for doing stupid things in situations like this. Very stupid things. But he reached over and kissed him. Quickly. And Ryan had this stupid smile like that one he had when he was drunk and saw Mike that one time, and he felt so goddamn happy even when death lingered over him. And it wasn’t right, but it was because if he waited till everything was perfect this would never be, the way things were going.

            They laid there for a while longer, doing nothing, but he could feel Ryan memorizing him with his eyes. And it was so goddamn stupid and domestic and pathetic, but he didn’t want to do this out of pity or depression or anything but an actual feeling. But then Ryan took and breath and said, “I’ll be here. Whenever you’re good.”

            Of course he would, because Ryan was good at getting hiding emotions and, lately, making sure Mike was okay. Mike wasn’t okay. Not yet. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be. Even if he caught Lily. Even if every cult on the face of the planet was destroyed. Because things had happened that he couldn’t ever forget or forgive. But this wasn’t some stupid impulse made of depression and fear. It just helped him get rid of those demons. He didn’t want to be like Ryan. And Ryan didn’t want him to be like him and when they were together, Ryan had tried, at least lately, to be human. There was something to be said for that.

            There was an argument to be made for finding happiness in the most unlikely of places. And, for Mike, one of those might have been with a washed out, former alcoholic who’d caught the most notorious serial killers of the day and lost himself to that. It was a really stupid argument. It was the kind of argument Joe or Lily would make—crazy as fucking hell and nonsensical as a cat on a keyboard—but sometimes the stupid arguments were the best. Because they were so unexpected that they made sense. And this, whatever it was, was that plot-twist that was blinding but fit everything together. They made the story worth watching. And in the end, wasn’t that what everyone was here for? To find a story that was theirs, beautiful and perfect and unexpected? Their story would be a best-seller, a detective novel that startled with its brilliance and heartbreak. But in the end, everyone who was still alive got a happy ending. And after all of it, that was all Mike could wish for.


End file.
